


The Book

by EowinSymbelmine



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Books, Fluffy, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EowinSymbelmine/pseuds/EowinSymbelmine
Summary: The first time Crowley had seen the book, he thought nothing of it.The second time that the book made an appearance, Crowley started to wonder.The third time he saw the book, Crowley was sure Aziraphale was playing some kind of prank on him.================In which Crowley founds a little mistery to unveil.(Unbeated, non-britpicked, sorry for any mistakes!)





	The Book

The first time Crowley had seen the book, he thought nothing of it.

 

He had called Aziraphale, asking if he could be tempted to lunch. Lately, the demon felt as if he couldn’t truly go more than a couple days without seeing the angel. He chalked it up to the whole “The World didn’t ended when it was supposed to” business all those months ago, and the need to have some kind of constance in his life. And, if the angel was anything, it was constant.

 

Crowley parked the Bentley haphazardly and swaggered to the door of the bookshop, whistling off-key, annoying a couple that was leaving the seedy little store next door. The day was pleasantly warm, and he thought it would be nice to have a stroll through St. James’ before lunch.

 

The little bell over the door rung, a bit taken aback since the door was locked just a second ago. The demon locked it again, before slithering to the backroom.

 

“I thought we could take a little walk”, he said, throwing himself nonchalantly on the dingy sofa, without bothering with pleasantries. “Enjoy this surprisingly nice weather”

 

Aziraphale, sitting on his stuffed armchair, didn’t lift his face from the small leather-bound volume that held his attention at that moment.

 

“Sounds lovely, my dear. I’ll just wrap this up and we may go”. Crowley closed his eyes, knowing that ‘wrap this up’ could take anything from 2 minutes to a couple of hours. He had just dozed off when a light touch at his elbow startled him, and he rubbed his eyes, glancing at his watch. 30 minutes; a frequent reread, then.

 

“What is it you’re reading, now?”. Crowley stretched and watched Aziraphale put away the little book before shrugging on his coat. 

 

“Oh, just  _ The Canterbury Tales _ . I was in the mood for something lighthearted.”

 

==================================

 

The second time that the book made an appearance, Crowley started to wonder.

 

When he entered the shop, with a bag full of liquor and a box of Gianduia truffles, Aziraphale was again immersed on a small book. From his point of view, it looked exactly the same from a couple weeks ago – the leather a muted red, adorned with golden letters long faded, impossible to discern from that distance, spine a little scuffed –, which was weird. The angel sure liked to revisit his old favourites, but not so frequently, and he sure as He-Hea- _ Somewhere _ wouldn’t take this long to read such a puny tome. 

 

“Nice read?”, the demon asked, arranging the bottles around the black and golden box, and miracling a couple of glasses. The angel hummed, absentmindedly. Crowley plucked a truffle from the box, bit half of it and offered the other half. “‘S your favourite, angel.” he mumbled, chewing slowly. “From that  _ really _ expensive chocolatier. Come ooooon…” Aziraphale, sighed, closing the book and tucking it carefully on a small shelf over his computer desk. 

 

“My dear boy, you shouldn’t...”. Crowley waved the half truffle right before Aziraphale’s nose. The angel rolled his eyes, but leaned forward, tooking the chocolate carefully, briefly wrapping his plump lips around the demon’s slender fingers, chasing every last trace of the sweet. Crowley gulped, feeling suddenly a bit too warm below his collar - specially after Aziraphale groaned, closing his eyes when the taste hit his tongue.

 

The demon cleared his throat and sat at the rickety table, pouring a generous serving of vintage port and chugging it down in one go, before serving another glass for himself and one for the angel. Aziraphale looked puzzled as he sated across him, but made himself comfortable, nibbling on another truffle and sipping his port contentedly.

 

“So… You haven’t answered me, angel. Nice read?”

 

“Oh, yes, I found a delightful new translation of  _ The Nichomachean Ethics _ ! Do you remember Aristotle, my dear? Oh, how many wonderful discussions we had at the  _ Lyceum _ …”

 

“Yeah, sure. Wonderful.” Crowley felt something niggling at the back of his mind.  _ Weird _ .

 

=====================================

 

The third time he saw the book, Crowley was sure Aziraphale was playing some kind of prank on him. 

 

He sauntered by the edge of the pond at St James’, heading for their usual spot at the Blue Bridge, a paper bag full of peas on his inconspicuously deep pocket. Aziraphale was already waiting, leaning against the rail, face hidden in… that same small, leather-bound blessed book!

 

“How is Aristotle faring, then?” the demon called as he approached the angel, who shutted the book, his face a picture of befuddlement.

 

“What do you mean, my dear?”. He placed the book carefully in an inner pocket of his coat, retrieving a small paper bag of his own, filled with oats. Crowley gestured with his chin towards him, indicating the book. “Oh! No, I finished that days ago. This is an anthology of Walt Whitman’s works”.

 

_ He’s gotta be kidding _ , Crowley thought.

 

It was  _ the same book _ . He  _ knew  _ it was!

 

Or, he was at least 99% sure.

 

Okay, maybe 80%.

 

“Walt Whitman, huh?”. Crowley felt something stirring in his mind, a thought, an idea long buried, trying to burst through towards the sunlight. He leaned against the rail besides Aziraphale, letting their shoulders touch lightly while they threw their offerings to the waterfowl, gazing at the placid waters. “Let’s see...”. He closed his eyes and took a deep (albeit completely unnecessary) breath. His voice was low, and deep, and slightly shaky. “ _ Not the heat flames up and consumes. Not the sea-waves hurry in and out. Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe summer, bears lightly along white down-balls of myriads of seeds, wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may. Not these—O none of these, more than the flames of me, consuming, burning for his love whom I love—O none, more than I, hurrying in and out _ . ”

 

He opened his eyes and looked at Aziraphale. The angel’s face was a maelstrom of emotions - pale, confused, with a hidden glint of something akin to hope in the blue eyes still fixed over the water. He turned, swallowing hard, throwing another handful of peas towards the birds clustered under the bridge.

 

He had rather showed his hand with that one.

 

“ _ Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up? _ ”. Aziraphale’s voice was low, yet startingly clear, with an edge of steely resolve in it. Crowley looked at him out of the corner of his sunglasses, and felt something twist in his gut - the angel’s face looked so openly tender, full of warmth, glowing in a faint golden hue. “ _ —O I, the same, to seek my life-long lover; O nor down-balls, nor perfumes, nor the high rain-emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, more than my copious soul is borne through the open air, wafted in all directions, for friendship, for love _ .”

 

Silence fell between them, heavy with Meaning.

 

“How about-” Crowley croaked, and cleared his throat embarrassedly, “How about we get a couple of bottles of that Riesling we had last week, go back to mine, and you can refresh my memory about the works of Whitman?”. He turned to face the angel, letting his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose.

 

Aziraphale’s eyes were so deeply blue, like a midday clear sky. His smile was all fondness and shyness, and he patted Crowley’s arm, letting his hand linger by the curve of the demon’s elbow.

 

“A delightful idea, my dear”, he murmured, voice soft and brimming with affection.

 

=============================================

 

Crowley blinked awake, head pillowed in something comfy and warm. Something yielding, smelling of dust, cocoa and cedar wood. Something that, apparently, was covered in well-worn tan linen. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply that comforting scent; it smelt of familiarity, of home, of… of  _ love _ .

 

He felt a hand carding through his hair, fingers soft and gentle, the caress almost enough to send him back to sleep.

 

“ _ Light, so low upon earth, You send a flash to the sun _ ”. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s voice rumbling through his very core, warming him thoroughly with its affectionate tones. “ _ Here is the golden close of love, All my wooing is done. Oh, all the woods and the meadows, Woods, where we hid from the wet, Stiles where we stayed to be kind, Meadows in which we met! Light, so low in the vale, You flash and lighten afar. For this is the golden morning of love, And you are his morning star. _ ”

 

“Always liked Tennyson” Crowley murmured, feeling himself blush something fierce, and turned to lay on his back, eyes still closed.”Too bad I was sleeping through most of his life.”

 

“You lazy serpent”. Aziraphale’s voice was teasing, fingers still running deftly through the dark strands. “He was a lovely man, but a very tormented soul.”

 

“Hallam.”

 

“Indeed, my dear.” He heard the angel sigh, and the snap of the book cover. Opening his eyes, Crowley saw it.

 

Muted red leather, faded golden script on the cover. It had the same scuff mark at the bottom of the spine. Crowley had noticed the mark earlier, because it looked like a scratched-off ‘S’.

 

“I thought you said you were reading Whitman at the park”, Crowley said, feigning confusion. 

 

“I was, earlier.”

 

“But… it is the same book”

 

“No, it’s not.” Aziraphale answered quickly.  _ Too quickly _ . He was doing his patented ‘Whatever you are playing at, I have no idea what you are talking about’ guilty face.

 

“Angel...” Crowley sat up, turning to face the angel, a sly smirk sliding across his lips. “Did you miracled this book to show whatever you are in the mood for reading at the moment?” Aziraphale let out a shocked gasp.

 

“WHAT?! I’d never - how could you think -” while the angel was doing his best impression of an incensed, sputtering owl, Crowley striked with serpentine grace, plucking the book from Aziraphale’s hands with nimble fingers.

 

“AHA!” He jumped off the sofa, crossing the room in 3 large steps. The angel, still dumbstruck, was too slow to follow. “Let’s see it, them!”

 

Crowley opened the cover, and felt his brain short-circuiting. He closed the book, and opened again for good measure. 

 

_ No _ , he thought.  _ It couldn’t _ …

 

“Angel...” he raised his eyes and faced Aziraphale, who stood in the middle of the living room, wringing his hands ruefully.

 

“Is that...”

 

“Yes, quite right”, the angel answered, looking at his feet like a kid caught with his hand stuck on the cookie jar.

 

“But...”

 

Nestled inside a hollowed-out space, carved in the yellowed pages of the volume, lay a Kindle.

 

“I can’t  _ believe  _ it!” Crowley laughed with devilish glee, opening the book again and admiring the craftsmanship involved in the disguise. “You, Mister Head-Librarian-of-the-Great-Library-of-Alexandria, Mister Founder-of-the-British-Library, Mister Antiquarian, went and bought yourself a  _ Kindle _ ! And  _ defiled a book _ !”

 

“I most certainly did none of these things!” Aziraphale raised his head haughtily, crossing his arms. “If you must know, this was a  _ gift _ .” Crowley felt the smallest tendril of jealousy grip his core. He was the  _ only one  _ who was supposed to buy Aziraphale expensive gifts! And he never considered buying him an e-reader because… well, because he thought the angel would be deeply offended. And confused about how to use it.

 

(He actually thought about buying it as a sort of gag gift, but decided, at the last minute, to spend the money in an exquisite bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Now he regretted it. Although he recalled fondly the delighted expression on Aziraphale’s face when he saw the bottle)

 

“A  _ gift _ ? A gift from  _ who _ ?” Aziraphale advanced and snagged the device from Crowley’s hand, putting it on the coffee table.

 

“From that lovely witch girl, Anathema” he sat on the sofa, crossing his ankles defensively, an annoyed look in his face. “She said her young man gave it to her, but she could never make it work properly. She thinks it’s something to do with the ley lines around Tadfield.” He caressed the worn-out cover. “And I’d never defile a book, how could you accuse me of something so horrific? This was an old journal of mine.” Crowley sat beside him and put his hand in the angel’s thigh, squeezing lightly.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I know you would never destroy a book, not even a really bad one.”

“And Heaven knows there are some truly appalling offers in the literary world, but it’s the principle of the thing.” Crowley smiled and leaned to kiss Aziraphale softly.

 

“I just… never thought you would be in favour of this sort of thing, you know?”

 

“Whatever do you mean, my dear?”

 

“E-books. No paper, all 0s and 1s in a screen. No rustling of pages, no smell of ink and old paper, no hefty weight on your hand while you read...” Aziraphale’s eyes went a little glassy, a little dreamy, as Crowley described the sensations that he knew his angel loved passionately. “I thought you would be  _ strongly  _ against it.”

 

“But how could I, dear boy?” he took Crowley’s hands in his, eyes bright as they always got when he talked about books. “Think about the practical aspects of it! A  _ whole  _ library, right in a person’s pocket! I don’t need to be peeved because I can’t find a particular tome in my collection when I have it  _ right there _ .” he pointed at the gadget, cozily snuggled inside its little disguise. “Besides, digital books are, mostly, much cheaper than physical ones. Which means more people are capable of affording them. Also...” he got a bit red and averted his eyes “I’m not ignorant about the…  _ costless  _ ways one can acquire a digital book. In my opinion, anything that can promote literacy and help anyone who loves books as deeply as I do is a good thing”. His self-conscious little smile was smothered by the fierce kiss the demon bestowed him.

 

“But you must admit that you’re rubbish at anything remotely technological, angel. How did you figured out how to use it?” the  _ without asking me  _ went unsaid. Aziraphale blinked, still a little dazed after the kiss.

 

“I read the manual thoroughly, of course.”

 

“Of course” Crowley echoed, trying with all his might not to laugh, and failing spectacularly. Aziraphale swatted him, half-heartedly. “But why did you hide it from me?”

 

“For this exact reason, you mocking old serpent” he tried to scowl, but the effect was ruined by the large pleased smile.

 

“That’s why you did that cover? Clever little camouflage there, angel.”

 

“Yes, yes… camouflage. Safer to use it when I’m out and about.” Aziraphale paused, looking a little abashed. “Well, that, and… despite all the perks, and because of the amount of time I’ve been using it… I would miss the feeling of holding a book in my hands too much.” he concluded in a whisper, as if ashamed of the feeling.

 

“Oh, angel.... Please, never change.” Crowley kissed his forehead. “Now… can I tempt you to dinner? Just promise me to leave this thing here at home, please. HERE! I mean, only  _ here _ , not here at home, because obviously this is not our home - YOUR, your home, only mine, hahahaha.” Crowley jumped off the sofa and snatched his sunglasses from their place near the blessed little gadget.

 

“Well, ” Aziraphale stood up and offered his arm with a thousand-watt smile. “You see, my dear, I was browsing the newspapers yesterday and saw an ad for the most delightful little cottage near Southwick, with a frankly stunning back garden...”

 

The Kindle sat smugly at the coffee table while their voices faded in the distance. It looked like it would make acquaintance with the sea any minute now.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, I bought myself a Kindle. Last Sunday, I was crafting a cover for it using an old hardcover I had, and I started to think about how Aziraphale would feel about e-readers, being the quintessential bookworm.
> 
> Then I started to think: "What if he doesn't want Crowley to know he has an e-reader, because he knows the demon would be insufferable about it?"
> 
> It started as just a small, dialogue-only fic, but it kinda grew out of hand. xD
> 
> The Walt Whitman poem they recite together is an excert from "Live Oak, with Moss" (you cand find it at https://whitmanarchive.org/manuscripts/liveoak.html). The Tennyson poem is an excert from "Marriage Morning" (you can find it in full at https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50299/marriage-morning)


End file.
